Maybe We All Could Be More Saintly

​At the beginning of this year, I challenged myself to read at least 2 fiction books in 2026. Mainly because for the last decade I have read exclusively non-fiction books - a lot of them - fueled largely by a desire to learn as much as I can about subjects I am passionate about.

But recently, I found myself wondering, is it possible I've forgotten how much we can learn from fiction?

Is it possible that great truths can be found as much in fiction as in non-fiction?

Inspired by some friends who'd shared their appreciation for the book "Theo of Golden," I decided to make that my first fiction read of the year. If you haven't read the book and plan to, you may want to stop here, even if one article can't begin to capture the hundreds of individual moments and brilliant writing in this book.

But I want to reflect on the general message I personally took away from a book filled with many of them.

I want to reflect on a great truth.

The story is built largely on portraits. Portraits of faces. And an old man's capacity to see the pain in the faces in those portraits, largely driven by the deep pain that lived within the old man.

Theo used these portraits as an avenue to enter into the lives of those painted onto the canvases. And once there he used the portraits to help people see beauty in themselves they'd long forgotten existed.

Our pain does that to us, you know. It blinds us to beauty. Beauty in the world and in the souls that surround us.

I felt the book begging a question of the reader - at least this reader.

What do you do with your pain?

Do you hide from it? Or do you fully grab hold of it with hopes of better understanding the pain of others? Is your pain the reason you hide, or is it the reason you demand of yourself to become more fully alive?

The people of Golden who came to treasure the old man thought he was a saint. But in reality, the most saintly thing about Theo was his capacity to deeply understand people others had long lost interest in trying to understand.

I'm sure many of us get that. We've had people show up in our lives with a curiosity - a compassion - a longing to discover who we truly are. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

The sadness.

Not to tell us we shouldn't be sad, but to allow us to find comfort in knowing they too are sad. And to assure us that together we are going to find the beauty that surely lives in the midst of sadness.

Is that a saint?

One who so truly believes there is beauty in sadness that they will live out with unrivaled determination a commitment to enter the sadness of others?

And if so, if that is sainthood, what keeps us all from becoming saints?

I couldn't help but be warmed by Theo of Golden.

And I couldn't help but wonder - in a non-fiction sort of way - how much better would the world be if we were all a little more like Theo.